END OF THE LINE

END OF THE LINE


That night before the ball game, I was whispering to the walls in bed. I had been lamenting to the furniture, and later, to the ceiling, that real, fireball-spewing magic was impossible in the world I was born within. I had spoken with increasing dissatisfaction of the planets I traveled to in my dreams, and how modern life grated like metal on bone.

Something answered me at the time. It spoke in a chipper tone wholly divorced from my own internal monologue - "Gifted: PSI Sight."

I had shot bolt upright in bed then. Of course, I asked follow-up questions (to no response) and tried everything I could think of to activate the gift (to no avail). Eventually I got tired of the unproductive abstract questions. Like a lightbulb, I flicked off and fell asleep.

I’m Thayle E.T. Lee, and though I didn't know it yet, I was about to be horribly lost in Southern California with three dollars, a 1-day bus pass, and the clothes on my back.

PLAY BALL



The next day, I had woken up around 1 PM, taken a long shower, and remembered my friend was playing baseball four towns south.

I was in high school then, and a frayed bundle of nervous cold fronts and sheer animal violence. Before I had transitioned to the public school where this took place, I had been in a private school for delinquents, gangsters, and severely autistic children. I was the third wearing the skin of the first. At the time I fancied myself the token bisexual, and when I confided this to my good buddy Ricardo, his words slowed to a crawl as he tried to figure out how one could want to fuck men and women. Eventually he had said that I was cool, and if anyone gave me shit for this, come right to him - he'd call his people over.

I had laughed in his face back then, for a reason he probably never got. Something about good people and gutters.

This is all neither here nor there. My buddy was playing baseball, and I had a deep-seated loyalty to people I saw as friends, so I looked up the bus route, pocketed my phone plus some spare change, and went on a long ride to the end of the line.

FIRST INNING

The first omen of the day came while I was waiting for the "Lightrail", which is what the Valley Transportation Authority calls its public train.

A man was pacing on the tracks with a backpack in one hand and a can of soup in the other. At the time, I was only thinking that he looked so much like my dad in his sweatpants. I had to look away. I stayed with my eyes averted while a bunch of burly men on the same platform yelled at him to get back up here, the Lightrail is coming, you fucking idiot. I kept looking away as the Lightrail abruptly pulled in, and thus I did not notice that he had, at some point before, left.

I had a deep sense of guilt later, when I realized that what they did had worked, and I could have tried too.

But the Lightrail moved like its namesake, and I soon found myself at the bus yard. I boarded the one my phone (which was now at 30%) recommended, and continued my journey stop to stop.

When I neared Morgan Hill, where the game was set, the bus route ended. I had to walk down the street just five steps, where I found another bus stop. This was so absurd to me I would remember it in the dark later.

SECOND INNING


In Morgan Hill proper, an elderly man boarded with frazzled hair, a green overcoat, and a bright smile. He was my second omen.

He said to me - "Never seen you around before.", to which I grunted, and asked if he knew everyone who went this route. He did, and he talked and laughed with the bus driver who backed him up.

I was feeling a bit left out, so I admitted I was in town for a school friend's baseball game in Live Oak, to which he asked if *I* was sporty, to which I just laughed.

The man laughed with me. It was apparently the right answer, as he went on to talk about how he was something of an academic. Now, I know I'm going to butcher this next part with my understanding. His biggest expertise was in certain European linguistic histories. He declared he could match almost any English name to its familial origin and coat of arms. So I gave him my name, Thayle, which he found to be a delightful puzzle, eventually concluding it was derived from the Gaelic Thail, or perhaps the Greek word for Bloom, which is as good an answer as I'll ever get.

We had a good time there. I found him a richly interesting and self-focused fellow. Eventually the bus reached his stop. The rest of the way was silent.

THIRD INNING


The school at Live Oak was selling food at a stand, and I bought chips for 4 bucks before promptly running out of money. They were kind enough to pass out free water throughout the day, as it was sweltering.

The ride must've been longer than I expected. I had arrived at the third inning. It was at this time when I remembered the night before, and wondered at the potential existence of "PSI Sight".

I spent half the ball-game watching the ball, pushing and prodding at the memory, and suddenly it clicked. My field of view widened. I saw the ball, and I saw everything else I wasn't focusing on, and even when I flicked my eyes or shook my head, I could still see what I was looking at - there were no cut corners. It was immensely exhausting, and eventually I had to stop because I felt like my forehead would explode.

I spent another 45% of the game texting my friends about the game and "PSI Sight", something like 3% chatting with real people, and the last bit on saying hi to my buddy Jonathan when he passed by. His face lit up like every candle in the world when he recognized me.

All too soon, it was over. Jonathan lost. That was my final omen.

THE PORTENTS COME TO COLLECT


My phone died.

It was as I was walking out of that school. It suddenly hit me that I was 5 hours away from my house, and I hadn't memorized or even paid attention to the route. I had a bus pass in my pocket and three stops worth of cash. The bus pass would cease to be valid at midnight, and it was 6, so I had very little margin for error. Luckily I was at least physically imposing, at the time 6 foot 5 american units, so probably no one would mug or kill me when easier targets exist, I consoled myself.

I rushed back to the bus stop I remembered. On the way, I saw a bustling Italian restaurant. With no small shame, I asked to use their landline to call my mother. It went straight to voicemail.

I told the beep I was lost in Morgan Hill, and if I couldn't find my way back, to meet at this restaurant, which I then named. I briefly entertained the thought of getting a job there while I waited, hung up, and left.

THE NIGHT STRETCHED WARM


People were out and about, jogging and talking and laughing. I had stopped by the fire department to ask for help or directions, but received only the latter. They told me which bus stop went to the Lightrail and nothing else.

So I followed that bus, and its line ended in the middle of nowhere. But then I remembered an absurdity earlier. I walked 5 steps up the street to another bus stop.

When I finally made it to the monorail, I met a man crushing pills on the dirty metal floor and snorting them. In the back a panicked woman was on the phone with someone. She hissed out descriptions of the scene. I ignored both of them and sat in the middle.

Some time later, the man processed that I was there.

He greeted me with a voice of warmth. Pointed out that I was tall, man. I thanked him and struck up conversation with the lamest starter possible - "You know, I gotta ask, does that make them taste better?"

He laughed and said nah, they still taste like shit. Kind of worse, actually. It's the thrill that really matters though! He followed that with a breathy snort and wide grin empty of teeth.

From there I remember hitting it off while I waited for the other shoe to drop. At only one point was I worried - when he conceptualized a chastity device in the form of giant paper towel tubes you have sex in - but it turned out to just be a goofy hypothetical. He was innocent like a high school delinquent, and it broke my heart watching him eat drugs off the floor to forget.

He kept telling me I was a real cool dude, man. Kept telling me I'd find my way home no matter what. When what I thought was my stop came, he looked me in the eyes in a moment of strange lucidity.

"You take care out there. Go far, live long and wide."


I knew then that he was really trying to reassure himself, so I waved a hearty goodbye and told him to do the same, he'd be alright, man.

And then I stepped out of the Lightrail. He and his pills zoomed away into the warm loud night.

HOME RUN


This next choice, I debated on with myself for a long while. I was in a large transit center lot, with a spiraling labyrinthine map of the valley and no good sidewalk exits. The map was mostly faded and unmarked. I had to guess which bus to take.

I asked each driver if their bus was headed "towards Cupertino" and all of them politely shook their heads. So I waited. Two more buses pulled in. One of their drivers said he was going near Cupertino, but the route ended first. I said that was okay and hopped on.

When the bus took off, it eventually picked up other passengers commuting to a graveyard shift.

Only one of them talked to me, but it was about literature. She mentioned listening to audiobooks in the forklift instead of using earplugs. Rattled off some names that I felt uncultured for not recognizing, except a 'Terry Prattchet', who I hadn't yet read but now know to be astounding.

I must've been feeling triumphant though, because I mentioned how lost I was, and she expressed worry, but I laughed in her face. She might not have understood the reason, but it boiled down to a simple truth I had truly now understood enough to say out loud:

"Good people live in every gutter, what the fuck would I even be worried about?"

A strip mall I recognized pulled into view.


End of The Line
By Thayle E.T. Lee.


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